I came before you; but," he added gently, and as if the reflection pleased him, "he must have been a prig, of course! I know the hero was a prig."

"But he was very handsome," said Valentine. "I think he had brown eyes, and a fair complexion."

"Yes, he was rather fair; but," I continued, trying to justify myself, for I saw they were all laughing at me, "as I could not make him natural, I gave him as many other advantages as I could; his defect was that he was too good, so I made him a clergyman. I used to like his remarks when I made him say them, but when I looked at them afterwards I thought he preached."

"And about what age was he?" asked Valentine.

"About the age that heroes generally are." "That is to say, about my age?" said Mr. Brandon, in a persuasive tone. "I think I must be right in saying he was about my age?"

"Oh no, he was not nearly so old."

"So old!" he exclaimed, with sudden vehe mence and interest.

Surely, I thought, he does not consider

himself a young man now; and Valentine remarked, in a dispassionate tone, "Why, you're nearly thirty, Giles—at least six years too old for a hero. An old man," he murmured, "and his wits are not so.

"He isn't," exclaimed Mrs. Henfrey, indignantly; "he's just in the early prime of life."

"I was never the right age for a handsome hero," he replied, half laughing; but I saw plainly that he did not like our considering him old..

"Well, that's as people think," continued his champion; "nobody can deny that he has the handsomest mouth and teeth in the family; "-she looked round upon us as she said this;-" or in the room either," she concluded; and, with a chorus of laughter, we all declared that we agreed with her.

He replied that when he had his portrait painted for her, he would have the most made of his one good feature. "It shall be painted as large as possible," he assured her.

"Well, I must say I would like to get a look at this novel," said Aunt Christie.

"I have read part of it," observed Tom. "She expected me to set her right when she

took a young family to sea.

She asked me

one day whether there was any difference between wearing and tacking. Her genius shines most brightly in seafaring matters. It always did."

"But I've burnt the novel," I pleaded; "you know I burnt it, Tom."

"And what for?" said Mrs. Henfrey; "what does it signify whether there's any difference between them or not?"

"I wanted it to be right; besides, the hero being quite in the grand style, I could not let him make mistakes. And then there is so much variety in nature, and if you want to make a vivid picture so many things have to be put in, I did not know what to choose. For instance, if I were writing of Tom, ought I, beside telling his height and appearance, to add that during this conversation he has been gently slapping the palm of his hand with an ivory paper-knife? or that Mr. Brandon, sitting by Aunt Christie (who has a green plaid gown on), has been leaning back on the couch and judiciously kicking the heavy tassel which hangs out from the corner of her square footstool, so as to keep it always going like a pendulum?"

“If I had been your hero," retorted the last-named of the two victims, "you would, in recording that little action, have taken care to add, but whatever he did became him.' However," he added, in a tone of deep reflection, "I think, on the whole, I am glad not to be the hero of a lady's novel. Do you think you could draw my character, Miss Graham? Should I come out a gentle muff in your hands, I wonder? Or a prig, with a dash of the dissenting minister?"

"I intend to be the hero of your next novel," said Valentine; "I have quite made up my mind to that."

"No, not the next," said Tom, basely betraying me. I was terribly tormented by them all when they found out that I had begun another, especially when being hard pressed by questions I was obliged to admit that I had stopped short because I could not think of any more scenes; in fact, to collect more materials.

"Ah, I wish we had Emily with us still," observed Aunt Christie, when they had quizzed me to their hearts' content; "there were materials for anybody that could use them."

"Yes, she was always in mischief," said

Valentine, bringing out his sister in a light that I had not expected, "and always getting me into scrapes."

"She and Giles between them," said Mrs. Henfrey, in her usual dispassionate tone.

66

"Do ye mind, Giles," said Aunt Christie, my seeing you and Emily helping the Oubit to write his exercise? The à Courts have never forgiven you, I suppose?"

"Nor ever will," he answered, "excepting Dick."

"Ah," said Aunt Christie, "one on one side, and one on the other of the dear innocent (as he was then). 'What are you all about?' I said, when I saw him with his little elbows squared on the table."

"Then old à Court should not have set me such foolish lessons," said Valentine; "how was such a little fellow to write compositions on Truth and Probity, and all that stuff? But he never would have found out that Giles and Emily did the answers unless they had put the last in verse."

"Oh, yes he would," said Aunt Christie, "for I remember your telling your mother so prettily that he was very cross, and said the essay was all nonsense, and now you might